


A Healing Touch

by LemmingDancer



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Banter, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Humor, No Plot/Plotless, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-28
Updated: 2017-05-28
Packaged: 2018-11-05 07:10:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11008497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LemmingDancer/pseuds/LemmingDancer
Summary: It's Mac to the rescue! Jack telephones in a panic because Phryne's done something reckless, again. A light, banterrific, self-contained fic I wrote in response to the Clue (Cluedo) prompt: Mac, Candlestick, and CellarOriginally posted on FanFiction.net in March of 2014.





	A Healing Touch

**Author's Note:**

> This probably fits best somewhere in the middle of the show's timeline, like most of my fics. This is the last of these little fics, and maybe my favorite. Side note: back when I wrote this, I'm pretty sure none of us had thought of the word "Phrack".

Mac stared down the narrow stairs into the darkness of Phryne's cellar.

"Hullo, the good ship _Disaster_?" she called.

Inspector Robinson's face appeared, pinched and even paler than usual.

"Thank God you're here," he said.

"I'm perfectly fine!" Phryne called from somewhere behind him.

Mac passed her medical bag to Jack and descended, ignoring his offered hand. Doctor Elizabeth Macmillan needed no man to help her down the stairs.

"Wait, the bottom step…" Jack began, a bit too late. As Mac put her weight on the last step it tilted forward, throwing her into his arms.

"See!" Phryne exclaimed. "That's what happened to me! And there were no detective inspectors down here to catch me."

"I swear, the two of you…" Jack said, as Mac pushed herself off the man's chest and straightened her jacket. She gave him a collegial nod of thanks.

Jack crouched next to Phryne. "I can't _always_ be following you around, just in case you do something reckless," he said.

Mac firmly tamped down the corners of her mouth. He made it sound as if he spent most of his time trailing after Phryne, arms out in case she lost her footing. To be fair, it was a pretty good approximation of their partnership.

"I wasn't being reckless. Mr. Butler is at the market, and I wanted preserves."

"And what have you done to yourself this time?" Mac asked, crouching next to Jack.

"Nothing!"

"If it was nothing, you wouldn't still be here." Mac gestured around the cellar. The guttering light of a few candles revealed Phryne sitting among dozens of fallen jars, wearing Jack's jacket.

"She went to see about something to eat," Jack said. "Then there was a crash, and it sounded like a crew of petite, angry sailors had invaded the cellar."

Phryne glared at him. In a less dignified woman, her frown would have been a pout. "I might have twisted my ankle, but you didn't need to telephone Mac."

"It could be broken! Or, you might have injured your spine…"

"I did nothing of the sort."

"Quiet, both of you," Mac commanded. As usual, they'd taken the opposite approach to the same problem, and were now fighting like an old married couple, squabbling just to hear each other's voices. Mac privately suspected their opposing ways of navigating the world sprang from remarkably similar experiences and beliefs.

Phryne sucked in a sharp breath as Mac prodded her swollen ankle. Out of the corner of her eye, Mac saw Jack wince when Phryne did.

"She'll live. Let's get her out of here," Mac said. Jack looked at the steep stairs, practically a ladder, then back to Phryne.

"Problem?" she asked archly.

"The murder rate in this town will double if we both twist our ankles."

"How are yours intact, anyway?" Mac asked.

"I'm not sure his feet touched the stairs, the rate he was going." Phryne said. Her voice was affectionate, but Jack, who was frowning at the steps, didn't seem to notice.

Mac sighed. While they both undeniably knew that _something_ was there, in the air between them, that it was so obviously love hadn't yet occurred to either.

"Turn around," Phryne said to Jack, twirling her finger.

"Why?" he asked, even as he obeyed, kneeling with his back to them. Phryne got to her knees and wrapped both arms around Jack's neck. He hesitated, and then pulled her legs around him, supporting her thighs. With a grunt, he stood. Mac exchanged an impressed look with Phryne, who was clearly enjoying herself.

"Onward, Pegasus!"

Jack came to an abrupt halt, glaring over his shoulder at Phryne.

"Not the mythical winged stallion of the gods, sent to lift up our hero?" she asked, innocently.

"Captured to serve as a glorified beast of burden?"

"If the horse shoe fits..."

"I could just leave you here, you know."

"You wouldn't."

"Don't tempt me."

Jack stepped over the bottom step and climbed the stairs, legs straining. He took Phryne into the parlor and executed another impressively controlled crouch in front of the sofa. After she was safely seated, though, his feet collapsed out from under him.

"Too much for you, inspector?" Phryne's tone was teasing, but her brow creased.

"Definitely no wings," Jack said, leaning on the couch as he rubbed his legs. He checked his watch furtively.

"I suppose you win. I won't go to the coroner's with you." Phryne was unquestionably pouting now. Mac began to unpack her bandages, wondering ruefully if she should leave them alone to complete their verbal dance.

"I prefer not to win by forfeit, but as I wouldn't be able to examine the evidence while carrying you, I'll have to accept the victory."

"You should take one, when you can get it." Mac nodded her agreement with Phryne.

Jack rolled his eyes and pushed himself shakily upright.

"Perhaps I could stop by later?" he asked. "I could bring…"

Mac stopped her examination of Phryne's ankle to look at the inspector. What did he think he could bring to the invalid? Flowers? Chocolates? Phryne Fisher had those in abundance.

"Well, I could bring coroner's report." Jack finished.

Phryne sparkled at him, grinning from ear to ear, and Mac shook her head. If Phryne had half an inkling how well Jack knew her, she'd be running in the other direction.

When Mac returned that evening, she was greeted by the sounds of Phryne's throaty laughter and Jack's rumbling voice from the parlor. Mac took off her hat to hang it, and blinked at something on the hallway table. The coroner's report lay there, completely forgotten. Mac smiled, shared a knowing nod with Mr. Butler, and left. Phryne's ankle could wait, more important healing was going on in that room now.


End file.
